The Approaching Storm
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: Jane hated Texas. Still, it wasn't all bad. At least Lisbon was with him. Of course, they were about to enter a recently evacuated office building to look for a terrorist in the middle of a hurricane, so he supposed things weren't exactly ideal.


Title: The Approaching Storm

Rating: T

Spoilers: This story is based on spoilers for 6x09, My Blue Heaven, but does not follow the events of that episode.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: For the lovely Idan, who requested "the approaching storm." I promised this as a bribe ages ago for a story which she has long past written and posted- I promise I didn't forget my promise and haven't been neglecting this project, I'm just a really slow writer. :) Hope you like it!

A/N2: Also, no offense meant to natives of Texas... I have nothing against the state, but in this story, Jane is not a fan.

xxx

Jane pulled at the hem of his vest—his Kevlar vest—and shifted uncomfortably. Much to his displeasure, he'd been forced to abandon his suit jacket in order to don the hated body armor. The thing was hot and too tight. He ran a hand across the back of his neck; it was sticky with sweat from the humidity. He hated Texas. He missed the scorching dry heat of California. Still, it wasn't all bad. At least Lisbon was with him.

Of course, they were about to enter a recently evacuated office building to look for a terrorist in the middle of a hurricane, so he supposed things weren't exactly ideal.

That pretty much summed up his life for the past two years, actually. Not exactly ideal. Things were okay, but not great. For the better part of two years, he'd had a place by the beach and as much peace and quiet as a man could ever want and yet—he'd been restless. At the year mark, he'd realized how much he wanted to go back, but he couldn't figure out how. When the FBI had shown up three months ago, he'd actually been relieved to see them. An image of himself in a prison uniform flashed before his mind's eye, but it was okay, because _she_ was there. In the daydream (yes, he had to call it what it was, he daydreamed of being in prison), even though everyone else on the planet had forsaken him, she had come to visit him.

They'd sent the lovely Agent Fischer to find him. He'd noted wryly that they must have thought he had a thing for brunettes, to send her. He considered writing them a note, telling them they'd gotten the color of the eyes wrong, just like McAllister had. If they wanted to entrap him with a lookalike, they should have sent someone with eyes of emerald green, not chocolate brown.

He'd let Fischer flirt with him, pretend to be charmed by him, and he'd be lying if he'd said he hadn't enjoyed it, even if he had no intention of letting the interaction go anywhere beyond flirting. He hadn't allowed himself to enjoy the company of any woman since he'd left, and Agent Fischer was smart and sharp. Spending time with her was refreshing. Fun. She was a good dancer.

He'd known she wasn't there for his charm, however, from the moment she'd "bumped into him" on the beach. She had cop written all over her, and even though the place he'd chosen for his hideaway didn't have an extradition treaty with the U.S., he'd seriously pondered giving himself up voluntarily, now that they'd found him. (Surely Lisbon wasn't so hardened against him that if he was caught, she would refuse to visit him in jail. No, if he got himself assigned to a prison near where she was living these days, surely she would come. She might even bring him a blueberry muffin, if he asked nicely).

Anyway, he'd known Agent Fischer had an agenda of her own when she flirted and danced with him, but he went along with it, assessing her motives while he sipped rum cocktails with her and teased her about her sunburn. He'd idly wondered just how far she'd be willing to go to carry on her little ruse, but thankfully, it hadn't gotten that far before she confessed her real purpose. He was surprised to find it out—really, the FBI had tracked him down to offer him a job? Surely they weren't so hard up that they needed a man who'd knowingly killed another person with malice aforethought to help them track down the nation's most hardened criminals? He discovered much later that Cho had had a hand in it—apparently he'd been talking up Jane's skills to the Feds, now that he'd joined their ranks himself, and some of them had listened. Thus… a pardon, of sorts, and a job offer—with several strings attached.

He'd been conflicted, at first. As restless as he'd been lately, the thought of returning to a life chasing criminals hadn't exactly filled him with enthusiasm. Still, the carrot they were offering was incentive enough, in the end, and he'd agreed. Though of course he'd immediately started scheming ways to get them to provide him an even bigger carrot, once they'd demonstrated they were desperate enough to have him that they were willing to bargain. They should have known better than to let Patrick Jane see their weakness—didn't they know if they gave him an inch, he would take a mile, every single time?

After his fifth stunt nearly caused Abbot to blow a gasket, Cho idly commented that Lisbon had always been able to wrangle Jane into at least some semblance of order, which was better than anyone in the Austin field office had managed so far.

Jane had already sown the seeds in Lisbon's mind, by that point. He'd visited her in Washington immediately upon returning to the States (one of the conditions of his return had been a brief furlough to "attend to personal matters"), all smiles and sunshine in that cold, gray place she'd chosen as her new home.

She'd greeted him at the airport with a soft smile which had both relieved and discomfited him at the same time. He'd expected her to be angry, or at least irritated with him. Or pretend to be, at the very least. He'd expected her to greet him with a sarcastic remark or a quip about how old he was looking due to all the sun damage to his skin. Instead, she was calm and smiling and he wasn't sure what to make of it. His heart had nearly stopped in his chest when he'd seen her—seriously, how was it possible that the woman had grown more beautiful in the two years since he'd seen her last? Surely she should be showing some signs of aging—some new wrinkles around her eyes, or have put on a few pounds at least? But no, she was breathtaking. His own smile had faltered for a split second, as he suddenly felt acutely conscious of his own worn down, disheveled appearance.

But he'd recovered, plastered the biggest grin he could muster onto his face, and engulfed her in a bear hug, nearly lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm. Her pulse was racing nearly as quickly as his own as he held her, he noted with some relief, so she wasn't totally unaffected by his re-appearance.

He'd stayed with her for two days. He slept on her couch, ate her terrible cooking, and (it was said by the interested townsfolk) followed her around town like a stray puppy. He watched her speak to a group of elementary school aged children about what it meant to be a police officer, thinking that she looked at peace in this cool green place. His heart ached a little, watching her display that special grace she seemed to reserve for children. Later, he watched her fill out paperwork like he had a thousand times before. She looked adorable in that sheriff's uniform.

She caught him watching her. Instead of scowling at him, though, she shot him a grin, and he had a sudden Technicolor vision of her sitting astride his lap wearing that smile, her sheriff's hat, and very little else. He inhaled sharply and forced himself to smile back like everything was normal. Her smile faltered, just for a moment, before he had the presence of mind to make some lame joke about the ever present scourge of bureaucracy. When she turned back to her paperwork, he shook his head to clear the image from his mind. He needed to get it together. She hadn't even been wearing the sheriff's hat at the time. He focused on watching her do paperwork, instead. Nothing sexy about that.

Of course, no sooner had he had the thought than it occurred to him how easy it would be to sidle up behind her and kiss the back of her neck while she bent so studiously over the forms on her desk. Jesus, what was the matter with him? He never used to allow himself to indulge in such thoughts, before. At least, not consciously, anyway. She used to infiltrate his dreams on occasion, but those were almost always embarrassingly chaste domestic fantasies or nightmares about Red John getting his hands on her. But in the past two years—the past twelve months, especially—he'd fantasized about her far more frequently and in a far less innocent manner than he ever had when he'd been in a position to do anything about it.

He was in a position to do something about it now, he realized. Still, he hesitated, oddly unsure of her.

He'd asked her to visit him once. He wrote her every week while he was in South America, and she responded to his letters faithfully. He sent her seashells and trinkets from the local women selling artisan jewelry on the beach. He'd treasured those letters from her—his one remaining connection to the outside world—the only part of that world he still cared about. After a year, he finally gathered the courage to ask her to visit. He worked himself into quite a state about it, to be honest. He dropped hints for weeks, mentioning idly how good it would be for her to relax, how peaceful it was by the ocean, how she really ought to take more time for herself. She didn't take the bait, though, and finally he wrote and asked her, straight out, if she would come down and visit him.

Lisbon, usually so prompt in her replies, didn't answer right away. To him, it felt like an eternity passed before she responded. He'd been fidgety with anxiety since he first sent the letter, and as the days passed without receiving a reply, his tension mounted. It was a full week later than it normally took her to respond by the time he got her answer, and then the response was maddeningly unsatisfying. One sheet of paper, with a single line: 'I don't think it's a good idea.' That was it. No equivocation, no explanation. Just flat rejection.

He was devastated. Despite how nervous he'd been to ask, he hadn't really believed she might actually refuse to visit him. His nervousness had been more about what it meant for him to be asking and what it would be like to see her again than about any real fear that she might say no. After all, he'd asked far more outrageous things of her in the past, and she'd always gone along with his plans in the end. Lisbon was always there for him. Always.

Jane went out to the local bar and drank himself into a stupor that night. He'd moped around for days, staring moodily out at the water and alienating any of his local acquaintances who made the mistake of attempting to engage him in conversation. When he finally wrote back, his letter was deliberately cheery, and completely devoid of any reference to the invitation or its refusal. They continued to write, but neither of them ever alluded to the possibility of a visit after that.

It was around that time that his fantasies about her took a vexingly intensifying turn.

A year later, it hadn't been far from Jane's mind that if he wanted to see Lisbon again, he'd be a fool not to accept what the FBI was offering. When he'd gotten back to the States, he hadn't stopped after landing in Florida, or again in DC, which is where Agent Fischer had stopped off. Instead, he caught a flight to Seattle.

He called Lisbon from Orlando. Part of him longed to show up on her doorstep unannounced, just to see what she would do, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate being blindsided like that, and truthfully another part of him was afraid of how she would react to what she might view as an unpleasant surprise. So he'd called and told her about the pardon and that he wanted to come visit for a couple of days. To his surprise, she'd agreed readily—hadn't even put up a token fight that she was too busy or anything. When she told him she'd pick him up at the airport, he could hear the smile in her voice, which was even more confusing.

She'd showed him around town, taken him to work with her. She bought him a winter coat, despite the fact that it was already late spring, since he didn't have one (after two years in the tropics, his wardrobe left much to be desired). In Washington, late spring could still be rather cold and he was grateful for the extra warmth. He turned the collar up against the rain and watched the affectionate smile she gave him. The dark woolen coat was his new favorite thing.

Two things made this idyll less than perfect. The first was that he was finding it strangely difficult to read Lisbon. She seemed pleased to see him, but she didn't appear to be hiding any conflicted feelings for him. He was used to being able to breach her walls with very little effort; now, they were slippery as glass. No matter how hard he tried to scale them, he couldn't get any purchase.

Second, from the moment he arrived, he was acutely aware that he had to leave in just over forty-eight hours to meet the terms of his agreement with the FBI. It wasn't enough time. He was going to need more time than that to win her over. To convince her to abandon her life for him. It had taken him all of ten minutes to see that her talents were being wasted in this little town, but on the other hand, she seemed calm, at peace here. There was no backlog of paperwork that kept her in the office until late at night, and she spent her days teaching small children about the meaning of justice instead of risking her life chasing down evil murderers.

He did the best he could. He didn't waste any of that time. He told Lisbon about his job offer with the FBI, and told her he wanted her to come work with him. She heard him out patiently, but didn't exactly jump up and down at the idea. She noted dryly that the FBI hadn't bothered chasing her down to offer her a job, unlike some people she knew, so what made him so sure they'd even want her? He brushed this aside—of course they would want her. Especially once they realized how annoying he would be without her by his side. He told her he would take care of that part, and not to worry. He had the presence of mind not to push too hard, though. He acted as cocky as always, making absolutely certain she couldn't see how desperate he was to win her while at the same time behaving as though her acceptance of the as yet nonexistent job offer was a foregone conclusion. It was a delicate balance, but he thought he carried it off rather well. He let his façade crack, just a little, when she took him back to the airport, taking her hand in his and looking deep in her eyes. "Please, Teresa," he said, eyes boring into hers. "Just think about it."

Four days and five stunts later, Jane could practically see the steam pouring from Abbott's ears, and Lisbon had her job offer. It took a week to convince her. He abandoned his attitude of casual indifference and called her five times a day. He knew women, knew they all secretly wanted to be pursued, and Lisbon was no exception. If he wanted her, this was the time to adopt an aggressive campaign of desperate cajoling and pathetic wheedling.

Eventually, she agreed. He had to wait a couple more weeks to see her again, since she insisted on serving out her two weeks' notice and helping the county find a replacement for her. As one might expect, he bore this impatiently. By the time she arrived in Austin, Abbott and Fischer were genuinely glad—perhaps relieved was a better word—to see her, after the nuisance he'd been making of himself. Cho kept his face as impassive as usual, but Jane could tell he was glad to see her as well. Jane hung back to watch the reunion between the two agents, which included a hug and the exchange of a few words he couldn't quite hear. They were both smiling, though, which made him ridiculously pleased.

Lisbon didn't offer to hug Jane. He didn't press the point, though he considered making a spectacle until she ponied up an embrace just for him. Instead, he hovered at her elbow as she unpacked her things into her new desk. She seemed unruffled by his proximity, smiling to herself a little at his obvious need to be near her. Then she surprised him by pulling a small box out of the milk crate she had her stuff in and handing it to him. "This is for you," she announced. It was a cardboard box, about six inches square. He moved to open it, but she stopped him. "Wait," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I almost forgot." She reached into her jacket pocket and slapped a shiny red bow on top of the box. "Now you can't complain I never got you anything," she said, her mouth curving into a teasing smile.

He stared at her in shock. She must have been planning that for awhile; she was inordinately pleased with herself for managing to surprise him. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Aren't you going to open it?"

He opened the package gingerly. It was a teacup. An orange teacup with a navy blue stripe and a matching saucer. He looked up at her sharply to find her smiling widely at him. He'd never wanted to kiss her more than in that moment, but he was paralyzed, unable to act. He was acutely aware of Fischer, Abbott, and Cho behind him, witnessing this exchange. He swallowed and met her eyes, still laughing at him. "Thank you," he managed, and then looked back down into the box, something warm and powerful threatening to burst out of his chest. He had a new favorite teacup.

Everything went to hell after that.

The day after the teacup incident, he had been steeling his nerves to ask her if she would help him look for a new apartment (a decidedly intimate endeavor), when he saw her talking to some agent he didn't know. A tall, good-looking agent who obviously didn't know that Jane had moved heaven and earth to ensure her place by his side. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Unaware sat on the corner of her desk and smiled down at her. And Lisbon laughed at his stupid joke about men from Texas and didn't tell him to go screw himself.

It wasn't like she was flirting with the guy—though he most definitely was flirting with her—but she didn't glare at him to make him stop bothering her, either. She met his gaze with a friendly, open gaze and teased him about Texas football with a mischievous gleam in her eye that gave no hint of a damaged intensity lurking beneath the surface.

She was different now. And Jane couldn't read her.

He couldn't seem to get his bearings. It was like he'd been living inside a kaleidoscope, and he'd grown accustomed to the particular arrangement of the patterns and shapes he had been living with for the past few years. Only now someone had shaken up the kaleidoscope and all the bits of glass had rearranged themselves into new patterns he couldn't understand.

He panicked, pure and simple.

He retreated from Lisbon. He flirted outrageously with a bemused Fischer and made Abbott's life a living hell in a vain effort to feel like he had some control over his situation, when in reality he'd never felt so uncertain in his life.

Everything was all wrong. For one thing, Lisbon didn't have her own office; she was in the bullpen with the rest of the team. The first time Cho said, "Sure thing, boss," to Lisbon when she asked him to hand her a file, there was an awkward pause as everyone's eyes drifted to Abbott. Abbott's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Cho, who Jane always thought of as someone who had absolute mastery of himself, couldn't seem to break the habit; he slipped up at least twice a week. Not that Jane blamed him-Lisbon was supposed to be the boss—the world was as it should be when she was ordering everyone else around. Every time Jane heard Lisbon call Abbott "Sir," it grated on his nerves like nails on a blackboard.

They worked long hours; even longer than Jane remembered the team working at the CBI. Lisbon was, of course, determined to demonstrate her professionalism, so Jane's half-hearted attempts to get her to socialize with him outside of work were rebuffed in favor of poring over case files while she got up to speed. In addition, they traveled constantly. Not just car rides a few hours long, either, where Lisbon drove and he sat quietly in the passenger seat or entertained her with mindless trivia. When they did drive, the whole group traveled together, and his time alone with Lisbon was sadly limited. More often, air travel was their default mode. Jane used to love flying, but now he just found it exhausting. He hated moving around so much, the feeling of constantly being unsettled. They'd barely been in town for more than three days at a time since Lisbon had come to Austin. She was still living at a hotel, though regrettably, not the same one where he'd been staying.

He couldn't help noting the differences between Lisbon and their new team leader, now that he saw them working together side by side each day. Jane had developed a grudging respect for Abbott, but he had a poor opinion of the man's leadership skills, compared to Lisbon. He was a sharp investigator, but he lacked something Jane couldn't quite name, something he was only aware was lacking because he knew that whatever it was, Lisbon had it in spades.

One day, watching Lisbon tease Cho about some new woman he was seeing, Jane flashed on the words she'd said to him so long ago. _We're a family_. Abbott had his own family; he didn't seem interested in building a new one at the office. Abbott inspired respect, but he didn't inspire loyalty, not the way Lisbon did. Abbott was the sort who molded everyone under his command into his idea of professionalism; Lisbon, on the other hand, recognized the talents of each individual under her command and organized them to maximum effect. Lisbon's team was a cohesive, fluid unit; Abbott had a bunch of blandly efficient drones.

That was the difference, Jane realized. Lisbon acted as a binding agent in any group of people she found herself in—she adopted everyone she worked with as her family, and her quiet care and sure leadership brought people together. And once someone made their way into her sphere of influence, she didn't let them go. There was something inexpressibly reassuring about that. About knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lisbon would never abandon you, once she'd claimed you as her own.

Fischer seemed competent enough. He felt no hard feelings towards her—let bygones be bygones, and all that. Besides, she had been the instrument of his return, and for that, he must be grateful. Jane didn't think he'd have a problem working with her, once she got used to him.

Lisbon was jealous as hell of her. For reasons he couldn't quite explain to himself, Jane hadn't bothered to correct her assumption that he'd slept with Fischer when she'd come to South America to collect him. Instead, he flirted shamelessly with the FBI agent and covertly watched out of the corner of his eye to see Lisbon's mouth tighten into a thin line every time she saw him talking to her. Jane found this evidence of her displeasure fascinating and more than a little gratifying to his ego. His heart thrilled a little, seeing such an overt sign of jealousy from Lisbon, who had always taken great pains to hide (however unsuccessfully) her feelings about his flirtations with other women in the past. He knew he was being a bastard, but he couldn't seem to stop himself—those tiny furrows between her eyes and her carefully pressed together lips were indescribably reassuring to him. He needed to figure out why he was being such an ass to her soon, though. He was pretty sure Cho was going to punch him in the face one of these days if he didn't stop.

Because she was Lisbon, she managed to rise above his gutter level pettiness and be the better person. She was polite to Fischer, and even seemed to get along with her all right when they were working together and Jane wasn't being too obnoxious about inserting himself into their interactions. Watching Lisbon find her place in this group of law enforcement professionals and seeing her operate within this new dynamic was fascinating. He watched with interest as Abbott and Fischer started to pay attention to her for her own sake, rather than the woman he'd blackmailed them into bringing on. He could see they were impressed by her. They listened to her.

Interestingly, she seemed to be the only person among them who failed to recognize the obvious: this wasn't a team; it was a collection of people working in the same room. After a while, though, Jane realized that this wasn't quite true, not anymore. Lisbon's presence, incredibly, was exerting subtle changes upon their motley crew. The line of tension in Abbott's shoulders eased, ever so slightly, when he was giving out orders, and he even unbent enough to make a joke once in a while that wasn't exclusively at Jane's expense. Fischer and Cho, who had been professional but indifferent towards each other from the start, seemed more comfortable with one another, somehow. Lisbon was still serving as that undefinable binding agent, bringing disparate elements together.

Jane stopped making such an ass of himself to Abbott, partially to demonstrate Lisbon's moderating effect on him, but also because he was too preoccupied with Lisbon herself to have much energy to devote to making Abbott's life a misery.

Now being a case in point. Jane, Cho, Fischer, Abbott, and Lisbon were outside a high rise building in downtown Houston with a small tactical unit, ostensibly for the purpose of going over their plan to take down a suspected terrorist, but Jane couldn't seem to focus. He tugged at his vest again—it was hard to breathe that thick, humid air with that thing pressing so tightly against his ribs. He glanced at Lisbon, who looked perfectly at ease in her own Kevlar vest. God, how could she look that good in this horrible weather?

There had been a bit of a scene about the Kevlar vest (Jane's, not Lisbon's). When the team first arrived, Abbott had handed them out like they were party favors. Jane, naturally, had declined, explaining in a perfectly reasonable manner that the Kevlar would ruin the line of his suit.

Abbott had stared at him incredulously. "This isn't optional, Mr. Jane. You will put on the vest, or you will not participate in this mission."

"Fine," Jane said. "I'll sit this one out. I'll just wait in the van, shall I?"

Abbott gave him a tight smile. Jane privately referred to this expression as Abbott's 'I would shoot you myself right now if only getting rid of the body inconspicuously wouldn't be so damn inconvenient to my crime-fighting mission' look. "I don't believe I made myself clear," he said, baring his teeth. "You will participate in this mission, or you will be arrested. You will wear a vest, or you will not participate in the mission. Does that clarify the relationship of cause and effect in this scenario for you?"

"Meh," Jane said dismissively. "If you were going to arrest me, you would have done it by now."

The vein in Abbott's neck began to throb interestingly. Fischer tried to intervene. "Jane, it's a safety precaution. Everyone has to wear them."

"Yes, everyone who might be around guns," Jane agreed. "I make it a practice to avoid them, so I'll be fine."

"I'd think you'd want to wear one everywhere you go, just as a precaution against being shot by the people you work with," Abbott muttered.

"Look, if you have one in the shape of the bat suit, I'll put it on. Otherwise, count me out."

"Jane, quit wasting everyone's time," Lisbon said, annoyed. "We have a job to do and you're making it harder on everyone for no reason. Just put the damn vest on."

"Lisbon—"

"Put. On. The. Vest." Lisbon growled.

He put on the vest.

Abbott shot Lisbon a grateful look and returned to outlining his plan.

That had been ten minutes ago. Abbott was still droning on about flanking positions and rear exits. Boring. Jane snuck a look at Lisbon. The ends of her hair were curling in the humidity. That was one of the only good things about the weather in Texas, as far as Jane could see. He loved Lisbon's hair when it was wild and curly. Well, he loved it pretty much any way, really. But there was something about seeing it free and untamed which was particularly pleasing to him. She looked calm and professional, apparently unaware of Jane's gaze resting upon her. She listened to Abbott attentively as he outlined the plan to search the building they were standing outside of.

Jane found himself tuning out, thinking more about Lisbon and her hair that always smelled good and wondering if he could get away with sneaking up behind her and taking a whiff. No one was paying any attention to him at the moment, so he might be able to manage it. He was just along for show, anyway. Well, to show he was at Abbott's beck and call, in any case. He didn't think anyone actually believed he would be useful in stopping a terrorist threat; that sort of thing was for the real cops to take care of.

Cho asked a question about the impact of the weather on the mission and Jane was jolted out of his reverie. He glanced to the south—the sky was an ominous gray. The city was in a state of federal emergency due to the severe weather warning that had been issued twenty-four hours earlier. Weather forecasters had been advising residents a level four hurricane was predicted to hit the city in the late afternoon. At this point, it could come upon them at any time. Jane ran his hand over his sweaty neck again. Right now they were in the proverbial calm before the storm—the hot, sticky calm.

Abbott had explained that the FBI had received an anonymous tip that a man had been seen in the vicinity a half an hour before, carrying a suspicious bag with what the caller believed to be the makings of an explosive device inside. Local law enforcement was stretched thin due to the state of emergency. Accordingly, Abbott's team had been called in to assess the threat and defuse it quickly and quietly.

Jane turned his head and looked at the building that was the supposed target of the threat. He frowned. Choosing to stage a terrorist attack in the midst of an imminent hurricane hardly seemed like the move of a mastermind. The building in question was empty—the cybersecurity firm whose offices occupied most of the building had ordered all its employees not to report to work due to the inclement weather. The city streets were empty as well; residents from all over the city had either left town or were bunkering down in their homes to ride out the storm, leaving the downtown as abandoned and desolate as a ghost town.

Which begged the question- why would any self-respecting terrorist choose today, of all days, to make his bid for national attention when Mother Nature was already inspiring enough fear and panic amongst the local population to render any kind of man-made disaster puny and unimpressive by comparison?

Abbott was just wrapping up the details of his plan when the radio affixed to his hip crackled to life and a disembodied voice started to issue from it, requesting Abbott to acknowledge the transmission.

Abbott hit the 'talk' button. "This is Abbott. What's happening?"

The disembodied voice on the other end of the line was nearly unintelligible to Jane's ear, but whatever they were saying, it sounded urgent. Abbott listened, stone-faced. When the exchange was over, he turned back to the rest of the group. "Change of plans," he said gruffly. "HQ got new intel that the suspect was seen half a mile away at the JP Morgan building. We need to head over there, locate the suspect, and bring him in."

"That's odd," Jane commented.

Abbott shot him an annoyed look. Just on principle, Jane supposed, since he didn't think there had been anything inherently annoying in the statement itself. "What's odd?"

Jane shrugged. "It just seems strange that the intelligence unit would get their wires crossed like that. Why bother sending us over here in the first place if they were just going to change their minds at the last minute?"

Abbott glared at him. "You got something to say, Jane?"

Jane raised his eyebrows. "I believe I just said it."

"We have a possible terrorist situation here, Jane. This isn't the time for one of your mind games."

"I was just making an observation," Jane said coolly. "It just seems strange, is all."

Abbott ignored him. "All right folks, let's saddle up. Remember, the suspect is a white male, late thirties or early forties, carrying a backpack with what appears to be an explosive device in it."

On Abbott's order, Cho and Fischer started to pile into the suburban, but Jane hesitated and looked back at the building.

"I said let's move out," Abbott said sharply.

Jane didn't take his eyes off the building. Shadows played off the glass; he could see the reflection of the clouds in the windows.

"Jane?" Lisbon's soft voice roused him from his thoughts. He turned to look at her and she looked at him searchingly. "What is it?" she asked. "What do you see?"

Jane glanced back at the building. "I'm not sure," he said reluctantly. "Something about this doesn't feel right."

Abbott rolled his eyes. "Potential terrorist attacks rarely do. So unless you have something more concrete to offer, Swami Jane, I suggest you get a move on."

Jane kept his eyes on the building. Swami Jane, indeed. He wasn't psychic, and he couldn't put his finger on what specifically was bothering him about the situation. He was being ridiculous, and despite what Abbott thought, he really didn't want to hold up the rest of the team in the event of a real terrorist attack. "Yeah, okay," he said, defeated, starting towards the car. "I'm coming."

Two delicate fingers on his wrist stayed his progress. "Wait," Lisbon said. She curled her fingers around his wrist and gently pulled him back around so he was facing the building again. "Something's bothering you about that building. What is it?"

Jane looked back at the building again. "I don't know," he said, frustrated. "Something about this just isn't adding up."

"Unbelievable," Abbott muttered.

Lisbon ignored him. "You want to take a look around, don't you?" she asked Jane.

Hope sparked. "I know it's crazy," he said. "I just have a feeling we're missing something here."

Lisbon turned to Abbott. "Sir, I'd like to request that Jane and I stay here and take a look around."

"Permission denied," Abbott said shortly. "I'm not going to let you be a party to your boyfriend jerking me around for the third time this week. Especially when a matter of national security is at stake."

Lisbon's mouth tightened at the reference to Jane as her boyfriend, but she didn't correct him. "All due respect, sir, but I think this is worth looking into."

"You want me to let you stay here because the thorn in my side has a funny feeling about the place?" Abbott said incredulously.

"I know it's not much," Lisbon acknowledged. "But in my experience, when Jane thinks something merits a second look, it's worth paying attention."

"Well, in _my_ experience, he thinks nothing of wasting everyone's time for his own amusement."

Lisbon shook her head. "This isn't like that. I know he's a pain in the ass, but this isn't his sort of con."

"His sort of con is to make fools of everyone around him to engineer a situation to his own advantage," Abbott sneered.

Lisbon held her ground. "He wouldn't do that. Not in a situation like this."

"You seem pretty sure about that," Abbott said gruffly.

"I am. I understand your reluctance, but I'm telling you, this is the kind of Jane hunch that's worth listening to. It's annoying as hell, but he tends to be right about this sort of thing."

Abbott gave her a measuring look, trying to assess whether she was for real or if she had just decided to join Jane's reign of terror.

Lisbon looked back at him, her gaze direct and open. "Trust me."

After a moment, Abbott released a heavy sigh. "Fine. You can check it out. But only you two. I need everyone else to support the tactical unit."

"Understood," Lisbon replied. Jane deemed it prudent to remain silent.

"Call me if you find anything," Abbott said curtly. He turned to the rest of the team. "Let's move out."

In short order, the van was locked and loaded and the team drove off, leaving Lisbon and Jane standing alone on the baking pavement.

Lisbon turned to Jane. "Well? Where should we start?"

Xxx

They started on the top floor, deciding to work their way down from there. They didn't find much. A lot of dark, empty cubicles and not much else. The building was stuffy—the power was out and the air conditioning wasn't on. Jane sat in one of the executive offices and spun around in the fancy leather chair, thinking about why a terrorist would target this building in particular, on this day, in particular.

Nothing brilliant occurred to him. He could hear Lisbon diligently checking every office for signs that one of the workstations might have been tampered with, but so far she hadn't found anything.

On a whim, Jane decided to go up to the roof.

He had to struggle with the door a bit to get it open, but when he finally managed it, the handle flew out of his hand and the door flung itself open with a bang.

Jane blinked as the wind whipped through his hair and whistled angrily in his ears. He and Lisbon hadn't been inside long, but the air, so sticky and stale a short while ago, was noticeably cooler now and the wind had picked up dramatically. It felt like a living thing, like a disgruntled beast expressing its impatience with mankind in huffs and emphatic gusts.

Jane wandered over to the edge of the roof, transfixed by the sight before him. He could see the fingers of rain extending down from the clouds in the distance. He peered cautiously over the edge of the building. He could see the branches of the trees on the sidewalk below him twisting and turning as though they were trying to dodge the malicious wind, rather than being buffeted about by it. He saw debris flying through the air, carried by the heavy gusts of wind. To the south, the sky was black with clouds, heralding the approaching storm.

It was sort of beautiful, in a terrifying kind of way.

"Jane!" Lisbon was yelling his name. He turned around at the sound of her voice and saw her by the open door to the stairwell. She didn't look happy.

She marched over to him, looking pissed as hell. That really was one of his favorite expressions of hers, he thought fondly. He glanced over his shoulder at the mass of clouds gathering on the horizon, then looked back at Lisbon, whose expression was at least as indicative of a storm to come. He was bookended by two powerful forces of nature—he was stuck between Lisbon and a hurricane, and both were closing in on him fast.

Lisbon got to him first. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

Jane shrugged. "Just admiring the view. The wind's really picked up, hasn't it?"

"Well, come back inside before you get yourself killed by being blown off the roof," she snapped. "You're supposed to be looking for a terrorist, not admiring the view."

"I was multi-tasking," he said. "I thought he might be up here."

"Why would you think that?" she huffed in annoyance. "You are the only person on the planet dumb enough to head for the roof of a fifteen story building in the middle of a hurricane."

"It's not the middle of a hurricane," Jane protested. "It's the beginning, at best." He looked over his shoulder again. "Though now that you mention it, those clouds are moving towards us awfully fast."

"I am not arguing with you about this," she said shortly. She grabbed him by the hand and started dragging him back to the entrance of the stairwell, grumbling under her breath the whole way. It was difficult to make out what she was saying over the wind, but Jane though he heard the words "damn fool" and "idiot consultant" more than once.

For his part, Jane was feeling quite pleased with the turn of events. He reflected that it had been entirely too long since he had held Lisbon's small, perfect hand in his. It was soft, warm, and strong.

When they reached the entrance to the stairwell, she wrenched the door open and shoved him through it. The minute the door was closed behind them, she rounded on him.

Uh-oh. He might have been better off with the hurricane.

"You listen to me," she said, poking him in his Kevlar clad chest. "I did not let you convince me to uproot my entire life and join the FBI just so I could get a front row seat to watch you get yourself killed from pure idiocy. Unless Abbott was right and you're jerking me around, too," she challenged him.

She'd been worried about him, he realized belatedly. Something in his chest warmed him from the inside out, starting from the place her finger had jabbed him. He had been alone so long he'd almost forgotten what that felt like. "I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I was trying to figure out what's been bothering me about this whole situation. I thought coming up to the roof might give me a different perspective."

"In a hurricane," she huffed in exasperation.

He shrugged. "You have to admit, it was pretty cool being able to see the storm coming towards us like that."

She closed her eyes, clearly summoning her patience. "It's not cool. It's dangerous. As is, by the way, wandering off alone when there's a suspected terrorist on the loose."

"I'm sorry," Jane said again.

"No more wandering off," she ordered him. "Promise you're going to stick with me, or I'm walking out of here right now."

"I promise," Jane said obediently.

"And no more breaks to admire the view," she said sternly. "We're here to stop a potential terrorist threat, not admire the majesty of Mother Nature."

"Very well. I will keep my nose pressed firmly to the grindstone."

"See that you do," she said tartly. "Now come on, we have a job to do."

Xxx

They searched three more floors without success, but when they reached the eleventh floor, Jane finally noticed something different from the rest of the building. "It's cooler here," he commented.

"The air conditioning is still on here," Lisbon realized. "The power is out on all the other floors, but the air conditioning is still on down here." She looked over at Jane. "You think that could be significant somehow?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but it definitely has my spidey senses tingling for some reason."

She smirked at him. "Your spidey senses?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Meh. You know what I mean."

She shook her head. "All right, let's check it out."

They proceeded down the hall, checking empty offices until they came across a room that differed from the standard office setup. "Looks like a bunch of computers," Jane observed, noting the rows and rows of machines spaced evenly apart that occupied most of the large room. "Only without monitors."

"Looks like a server room," Lisbon commented.

"A server room?" Jane inquired.

"Yeah, you know, a data center." Off Jane's look, she realized he was going to need a little more than that. She decided to keep things simple for the man who could barely even type. "Servers are basically powerful computers that can talk to other computers across different networks," she explained. "That must be why the air conditioning is still on down here. They must have the power on a backup generator on this floor to keep the machines from overheating so the company can maintain operations in the case of an emergency like this one."

"Interesting." Jane inspected the door. "Look at this—the handle's busted, and the keypad is fried."

Lisbon bent down to take a look. "Looks like someone used some kind of small explosive device to blow up the wiring for the keypad and then just broke in with brute force." She frowned and straightened. "That's weird. Why would a terrorist want to break into a room with a bunch of computers and no people?"

"That," Jane said slowly, "is an excellent question." He pondered the issue. "I think I've figured out what's going on here," he announced after a moment's consideration.

Lisbon looked at him. "What's that?"

"One moment," he said. "I need to check something to confirm my theory is right." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a familiar number.

The voice on the other end of the line was wary when it picked up. "Hello?"

"Van Pelt, how are you?" Jane asked with a smile she couldn't see. "It's Jane."

"Hey, Jane," Van Pelt said, taken aback. He supposed he couldn't blame her, since she hadn't heard from him in over two years. "I'm good. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. Listen, sorry I don't have time to chat—another time, perhaps. At the moment, I'm afraid I need your help with something."

"What is it?" she asked, still wary.

He told her about the cybersecurity firm whose premises they were investigating. "Tell me, Grace, if you wanted to steal something from a company like that, how would you go about it?"

"I wouldn't," Van Pelt said flatly. "I know the company you're talking about. They have a state of the art security system in place. It would be damn near impossible to get past their system."

"Humor me. They handle a lot of valuable data, right?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me an example?"

"They manage banking data for some of the largest financial institutions in the world, for one thing."

"And what would one do with that kind of data, if one did manage to get one's hands on it in a less than legal manner?"

"The possibilities are endless. You could get access to all sorts of accounts you shouldn't be able to access, you could funnel money into external accounts, set up false transfers, steal people's identities—"

"Ah, okay," Jane cut her off. "I think I get the drift. How would a hacker go about hacking his way into such a goldmine?"

"I told you, they wouldn't be able to," Van Pelt said. "The company has multi-factor authentication in place to protect all the data on its secure databases."

"Multi-factor authentication," Jane repeated. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Basically, it means that to get access to the data, they would need advanced coding skills, they would need to crack an encrypted password, and they would need a physical token to access the network and get into the company mainframe."

"So you're saying that they would need to be physically be inside the building to hack the system."

"Pretty much. They'd basically need to be able to physically plug into the system mainframe to pull off the kind of job you're talking about."

"Good to know. Thank you, Grace, you've been very helpful. I'll let you go now. Give my love to Rigsby, won't you? Lisbon says hi. We'll all have to catch up soon."

He hung up the phone and turned back to Lisbon. "This isn't a terrorist attack," he informed her. "It's a theft."

"The report said someone saw a man carrying a backpack with a bunch of suspicious looking wires sticking out of it," Lisbon reminded him. "We're supposed to assume it's a bomb unless we find out otherwise."

"It's not a bomb," Jane corrected her. "The backpack is full of computer gear, not explosives. Well," he amended. "Except for that little one he used to blow the lock on the door."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. You said it yourself. Why would a terrorist attack a building with no people in it? The whole point of terrorism is to inspire fear and terror in people."

"So?"

He shrugged. "Look around. There's no one here to terrorize. That's where our high tech thief made his big mistake. He assumed no one would see him because everyone was hiding from the storm, so he didn't bother employing much in the way of stealth on his way over here. It never occurred to him someone might mistake his computer equipment for an explosive device. He was too focused on his target to see how much he was exposing himself in getting over here."

"That makes no sense. Even if you're right, why would he decide to break into a building in the middle of a hurricane?"

"It's a crime of opportunity, Lisbon. The security is lower right now than it is even on weekends and holidays. He could hardly waltz up to the company mainframe during normal business hours, could he?" Jane gestured to the broken door handle. "I bet this room normally has one or two guards outside. Breaking in during a state of emergency is the smartest thing to do, really. Much easier than trying to bypass all these security measures on a normal day. This way, nobody's looking and he can take his time."

"So you're saying he planned to do this during a hurricane?" Lisbon said incredulously.

"Pretty much."

Lisbon was unconvinced. "You think he's just been waiting around for years on the off chance a hurricane would occur and he could put his brilliant plan into effect?"

"Why not? From what Van Pelt told me, there is a pretty big payoff involved. Waiting for the right circumstances to align would definitely be worth his while, if he was smart enough to be patient."

Lisbon shook her head. "Thieves aren't known for their willingness to choose an option involving delayed gratification. That's why they become thieves instead of getting jobs like normal people."

"Fair point," Jane conceded. "Waiting for a massive hurricane to occur in Houston would be a bit of a longshot—it could take decades. It must be a group of people, not one person. I bet they are spread out all over the country in places prone to natural disasters of some kind or another. That way, they wouldn't have to wait for something to happen in Houston, specifically. In the northeast, they could pull a similar job in a big snowstorm. In California, it could be an earthquake, and in Texas and the south, it could be a hurricane like this one. It's like natural disaster bingo—the first one who has a state of emergency and a secure data center in his immediate vicinity wins. That person puts the plan into effect on behalf of the whole group. The others provide technical support and at the end of the day, they all split the payout."

"Now you've gone from an alleged terrorist attack by a single individual to a nationwide conspiracy to commit widescale theft based on a broken lock," Lisbon said flatly.

"Think about it, Lisbon. Which scenario makes more sense? A deranged person braving a storm to blow up an empty building? Or a group of smart, patient thieves biding their time, waiting for just the right circumstances to come into play so they could execute their brilliant plans to net them incalculable riches in the space of a few hours?"

Lisbon hesitated. "Van Pelt said they could get access to secure accounts from here?"

"That's right."

"If what you're saying is true, what they're doing could bring the entire financial industry to its knees," she realized with dawning horror. "They could hack into people's pensions, siphon off their life savings. They could ruin millions of people's lives with a few keystrokes."

"Yes," Jane agreed.

Lisbon looked at the broken keypad again. "If you're right, it looks like he got what he came for. He could be long gone by now."

Jane touched the metal plate where the keypad used to be mounted. "The keypad's still warm. He can't have gone far."

Lisbon called Abbott and informed him of what they'd found. Abbott was less than impressed with the evidence they'd uncovered. When Lisbon inquired about the status of his own mission, however, he reluctantly acknowledged that his team hadn't found any evidence at all. Jane wasn't surprised. The thief must have realized he'd been spotted after the fact—perhaps when Abbott's gang had been standing on the street in their FBI-emblazoned Kevlar—and instructed one of his cronies to lay a false trail by calling in a tip that he'd been seen at the other building. Jane offered this opinion, but Abbott wasn't buying it. He expressed his intention to remain at the scene and continue searching, and instructed Lisbon to call back if they needed backup.

Lisbon hung up the phone and turned back to Jane. "We need to find him before he gets out of the building," she said decisively.

Jane glanced towards the bank of windows a little ways off to his right. Wind and rain were raging against the sheets of glass with frightening intensity. "I don't think you need to worry about that. The storm's hit. He's not going anywhere for awhile."

"He could be anywhere in the building by now," Lisbon said, not the least bit mollified.

Jane shook his head. "No. Humans are very primal beings. They cling to familiar territory in times of danger. He would have studied the layout of the building to organize the break-in, but he would have devoted the most attention to this floor. He'll feel more comfortable here than anywhere else in the building."

"Fine, we'll start here," Lisbon agreed. "I don't suppose you have an idea which section of the floor he might have gone to?"

"If I'd just pulled off a theft of that magnitude but circumstances prevented me from hightailing it out of here immediately, I would want to put some distance between me and the scene of the crime," Jane mused. "I'd want to find somewhere I could make myself comfortable while I waited for the worst of the storm to blow over. And," he added, turning and starting down hall, "perhaps find a snack."

Lisbon hooked her fingers over the back of the infernal Kevlar vest and yanked him backwards, spinning him around to face her again. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

Jane blinked. "Looking for the thief, of course. Come on, I'm sure there's a break room around here somewhere."

"Oh, no you don't," Lisbon said firmly. "I'm the one with the gun. That means I go first. You are to stay behind me at all times, do you understand me?"

"Lisbon, I just told you, we're looking for a giant nerd, not a terrorist," he protested. "What is he going to do, strangle me with his computer cables?"

Lisbon held her ground. "I don't care. Even if your theory is right, which we have no evidence of, by the way, the person who did this risked a lot to pull this off. Now that he's so close, he's not going to let anyone else come between him and the payday he's been waiting for so long. He could be dangerous. So I go first."

Jane hid a smile. He loved bossy Lisbon. "By all means, then. Ladies first," he said, gesturing for her to precede him.

Lisbon nodded curtly and drew her weapon as she stepped forward. Then, to his surprise, she reached behind her and took firm hold of his hand with her free one.

"Lisbon," he said, pleased. "Holding my hand twice in one day! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I don't trust you not to wander off again when I'm not looking," she said shortly, keeping her eyes trained on the path ahead of her. The wind howled outside and the rain continued to lash against the windows.

He found himself strangely irritated by her comment. He frowned at their joined hands as he followed her down the hall, his pleasure at the unexpected physical contact somewhat diminished. He didn't pull away, though.

There was no reason he should be annoyed. Lisbon had every reason to be suspicious of him, given his disappearance to the roof a short while ago, and his predilection for wandering off in general. And the fact that he'd disappeared from her life for two years. Given his history, she was absolutely justified in her lack of faith in him.

But he'd come back for her. He'd written to her every week for two years. He'd blackmailed the FBI into offering her a job to secure her place by his side. So why were they still stuck in limbo, when there was finally nothing in their way anymore?

He stopped walking, and Lisbon was forced to a halt due to their linked hands. She turned to face him with a question in her eyes. "Jane?"

"Why didn't you come to visit me?" he said suddenly.

"What?" she said, startled.

"I asked you to come visit me. On the island. Why didn't you come?"

"Seriously?" she hissed. "You want to talk about this _now_?"

He kept his eyes on hers. "Well, why didn't you?"

She yanked her hand out of his. "I can't believe you," she said angrily. "I've been here for over two months, and you choose this moment to bring this up?"

"That's not an answer."

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about this with you right now."

"I need to know, Lisbon. Was it something I did? Something I said in one of my letters?"

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

"You needn't have worried about the expense," he continued. "I would have sent you a plane ticket."

"It wasn't the plane ticket, Jane."

"Well, what was it then?"

She sighed. "Will you please just drop it, for once in your life?"

He looked into her eyes, his own eyes pleading. "Please, Lisbon. I need to know."

"No," she said, unyielding. "You do not get to act all wounded about this, Jane. You don't have the right."

"You sent me back one line refusing me, Lisbon. One line. You don't think I deserved a little more than that?"

She stepped towards him, her eyes dark and dangerous. "You think that was easy for me? It was all I could do, Jane."

"That's not true. You could have visited me," he said stubbornly.

She inhaled deeply, visibly reigning herself in. When she spoke, it was with a tone of hard-won patience. "Just what do you imagine would have happened if I had come down to visit you, Jane?"

He blinked. "I don't know. We could have done anything you wanted. I didn't care what we did. I just wanted to see you."

"The way I see it," she said, her voice deadly calm. "There were three possible outcomes to me visiting you. One, we spend a week playing buddy-buddy as usual. You're pleased to see your old pal, and I'm relieved you don't seem to be on the brink of spiraling into a dangerous depression. At the end of the week, I go back to the States, and we continue to be the world's best pen pals. Two," she continued, her eyes boring into his. "You finally decide it's time to show me how you would seduce me, if you put your mind to it." Jane's mouth went dry. She went on, her voice still eerily calm. "We spend seven perfect days making love in a tropical paradise, and at the end of the week, you kiss me on the top of the head and send me back to Washington with a host of fond memories." She took a deep breath. "Three, we do the whole love-making thing, but at the end of the week, you ask me to stay." Jane stared at her. "None of those options were acceptable to me," she finished.

"What's so bad about option three?" Jane demanded. "I would have loved for you to stay."

"And then what?" she asked skeptically. "What were we going to do, have sex and watch dolphins all day for the rest of our lives?"

"Doesn't sound so bad to me," Jane said, piqued.

She shook her head. "I'm a cop, Jane. It's who I am. I would have gone crazy on that island. You made your choice when you ran away. I had to make mine when I chose not to follow you. I'd already given up so much. I would have hated myself if I gave up my whole identity, just to be with you."

"You're more than the badge, Lisbon," Jane said, stung.

She shook her head. "I was finally in a good place, Jane. I had made my peace with what happened between us, and who I am to you. I had a house I loved, and I saw my brothers and their families more than once every three years. Going to visit you would have upset that fragile equilibrium I'd worked so hard to build. I didn't have it in me to rebuild it again if it all came crumbling down over my head for the sake of one perfect week with you. That's why I couldn't visit you."

Jane stared at her, speechless.

She gave him a wry smile. "Don't think I wasn't tempted, though."

Jane opened his mouth to speak, but though his jaw opened and closed, no sound came out.

"I had to go through seven sleepless nights of thinking and praying about it before I wrote back to you," she continued, unfazed by his reaction. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you an explanation. It was all I could do to say no in the first place."

Jane finally found his voice. "Do you regret it?"

She shook her head. "No. It was the right decision for me at the time. And now you're back, and I'm happy about that." She smiled at him, a beautiful, heartbreaking smile, and took his hand in hers again. "Now come on, stop lollygagging," she said, raising her weapon and tugging him along behind her once again. "We have a thief to catch, remember?"

Jane followed, his mind reeling.

_I made my peace with what happened between us, and who I am to you. _

Jane spent several minutes mulling this over as he blindly followed her through the hallways, thinking about teacups and Texas and Lisbon's small warm hand in his.

Who the hell did she think she was to him? Was it possible she thought this was it, this was all she was going to get? Two years' worth of letters and him flirting with other women to rile her up? Did she really think that was all he was ever going to offer her?

If that was the case, why the hell had she agreed to give up her life and move to _Texas_, of all places?

He thought about how hard he'd found it to read her since he'd come back. He was used to reading her emotions largely through her attempts to hide her feelings from him—reading between the lines of the blushes and the hastily averted eyes. But she hadn't been blushing lately, he realized. She hadn't been looking away.

_I made my peace._

She'd had a choice. She could have retreated into anger and bitterness, after all he'd done to her. Could have washed her hands of him entirely. Instead, she'd written to him every week and moved to Texas because he needed her. She'd decided to love him, wholly and freely, no matter what he decided to give—or not to give—in return.

Meanwhile, he'd been flirting with Fischer and unconsciously punishing her for the one decision in twelve years she'd made in the interest of self-preservation because he was too insecure to own up to his own feelings.

It was official. He was the vilest being on the planet. He was so utterly beyond unworthy of her that it defied description. Her absolute grace humbled him like a kick to the gut.

Panic rose in his chest. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He needed to reverse the tide, that much was clear. But how did one go about beginning to make up for twelve years of being less than she deserved?

It wasn't like he could just go up to her and ask her on a date. It was so pitifully inadequate.

Groveling. There would need to be groveling. Lots of it. As for the rest, he would need to proceed slowly, subtly. He would maneuver her into spending more time with him so he could regain her trust, bit by bit.

Perhaps starting with dinner wasn't a terrible idea, he decided. They could go tonight. Or—well, he didn't know how many restaurants stayed open during hurricanes, but he had food. He could cook. "Lisbon—" he began.

They went around the corner and Lisbon stopped so suddenly Jane walked right into her. Looking up to see what had caused her to halt so suddenly, he saw a man before them. A man who had clearly been walking down the hall from the opposite direction. A man with a backpack over one shoulder, a gun in one hand, and a half-smoked cigarette in the other.

For a split second, all three of them froze in place, staring at one another. Jane's eyes were particularly drawn to the gun in the other man's hand.

Lisbon reacted first. She brought her weapon up swiftly and pointed it at the thief. "FBI!" she bellowed. "Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head!"

The man didn't hesitate. He raised his gun in a blink of an eye and fired once. Jane felt what happened next before his brain processed the visual-Lisbon's body slammed backwards into his and his heart stopped as he realized she'd been hit. Her leg buckled, and he caught her as she fell. They slid down to the ground together. Jane's ass hit the floor and Lisbon slumped awkwardly against him. Jane clutched at her desperately; his chest felt tight and heavy. "Lisbon?!"

The thief approached them warily, apparently planning to finish what he'd started. His gun was trained on Jane this time.

From the ground, Lisbon raised her weapon and fired. Blood blossomed in the middle of the man's chest and he stumbled and fell to the ground, prone.

"Oh my God, Lisbon," Jane said frantically, helping her lean against the wall and then scrambling around in front of her to get a better look at her. He cupped her face in his hands. She was breathing and she looked annoyed; that was a good sign. She was breathing. "Are you okay?" he gasped.

"I'm fine, Jane," she said, gritting her teeth against the pain. "He tagged me in the leg. I'll be all right."

Jane looked down to see her fingers clutching at her right leg. There was a jagged, dime-sized hole in her thigh welling up with blood. He felt the bile rise in his throat. Human beings weren't supposed to have holes that big in their skin. "Oh my God, Lisbon," he said again, sick and dizzy.

Lisbon nodded in the direction of the body on the floor. "Is he still alive?"

Jane spared a glance to confirm that the wretched man who had done this to Lisbon was dead. Satisfied that the man's eyes were wide and staring in death, he returned his attention to Lisbon. "You're hurt," he said inanely.

"Yeah," she agreed, wincing. "Lucky for me he was a lousy shot. Missed the femoral artery, or I'd probably have bled out by now."

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the air out of his paralyzed lungs. He sucked in more air, but couldn't seem to get control of himself. She could have died. Right here in his arms, on the floor of this horrible building. He looked at the hole in her leg once more and his lungs seized up again.

Lisbon was saying his name. "Jane. I need you to check the backpack."

Jane wasn't wild about leaving her side, but he did as she requested. He opened the backpack gingerly and exposed a hooded gray sweatshirt, a laptop, an external hard drive, and several computer cables. The half-smoked cigarette was still between the dead man's fingertips; Jane hastily stubbed it out. They really didn't need to be dealing with the carpet catching on fire on top of hurricanes and bullet wounds.

Jane extracted the sweatshirt and brought it back to Lisbon. She took it gratefully and he helped her rip one of the sleeves off and tie it around her leg to keep pressure on the wound and slow the bleeding.

Just then, there was a terrible crash as a broken branch smashed through the window, carried by the storm winds. Rain blew into the building sideways, soaking them to the skin almost instantly. Jane blinked the rain out of his eyes and looked at Lisbon. She had a cut high on one cheek, dangerously close to her eye; a shard of glass had sliced the skin open when the window had broken.

"Oh, Jesus," Jane said, panicked. He touched her face below the cut, wiping away the blood. Why was this happening to her? God, why was she _always_ the one paying the price for his stupid decisions? "Lisbon, are you all right?"

"Fine," she panted, looking wet and miserable. "But we can't stay here. We need to get somewhere more sheltered."

"Is it safe to move you?" he fretted.

"It's safer than staying here," she said. "You'll have to help me, though. I won't be able to go far on this leg."

"Okay," Jane agreed. "Where?"

She nodded to a fire exit behind him. "The stairwell. We'll have to wait out the storm from there."

He helped her up and she leaned on him heavily. They made their way with difficulty to the fire exit. Jane got Lisbon settled on the landing of the stairwell, then pulled the door shut against the wind and the rain.

The din of the storm was muffled in the stairwell. Jane huddled close to a too-pale Lisbon, putting his arm around her and pressing a desperate kiss to her hair. Lisbon didn't object to him putting his arm around her, but leaned against him tiredly; he felt this was some cause for alarm. He glanced down again—the sweatshirt was soaked with blood. He fumbled for his cell phone and punched in Abbott's number.

Abbott picked up on the second ring.

"Mayday, mayday," Jane said, his voice hysterical. "Officer down. We need an ambulance here immediately."

"Jane, I swear to God, if this is another one of your tricks—" Abbott growled.

"No, it's not. I swear it's not," Jane said desperately. "Abbott, please listen to me, Lisbon's hurt. The guy, the thief, he shot her. Please, you have to send help. God, I'll be good from now on, okay, but you have to help her. Please, just send help."

"Jane, calm down," Abbott said. "Tell me what happened."

"She has a hole in her leg," Jane said, practically hyperventilating by this point. "It's really big. You need to get an ambulance here right away."

"Okay, I'll make it happen," Abbott said. "Just calm down, okay?" Jane heard Abbott ordering Cho to get on the line with the paramedics, then he came back on the line. "Listen, Jane, I don't know how long it's going to be until the paramedics get to you because of the storm, but we'll be there as soon as we can, all right?"

Jane dashed a tear from his cheek and realized he'd been crying. "You have to hurry, okay?" he hiccupped. "Just—come as fast as you can."

"We will, Jane," Abbott said, not unkindly. "We're on our way back to you now. Now, can you tell me what happened?"

"He shot Lisbon," Jane repeated.

"Oh, for God's sake, Jane," Lisbon, who had been listening, said irritably. She snatched the phone out of his hands and brought it to her ear. Jane found this encouraging. "Abbott, it's Lisbon. Don't worry about Jane, I'm not dying."

"There's a lot of blood, Abbott," Jane said over her. "Make sure the ambulance driver keeps his foot to the floor."

Lisbon ignored him. "Jane and I encountered the suspect as we were conducting a search of the eleventh floor. He ignored my order to relinquish his weapon and opened fire. He hit me in the leg and I returned fire, which killed him."

"Yes, sir," Lisbon was saying into the phone. "Jane confirmed there are no signs of explosives. We think he used a small charge to break into the server room, but it appears he was trying to steal protected data, not blow anything up. Yes, sir. We're on the eleventh floor, in the southwest stairwell." She listened a moment more. "Yes, sir, it hurts like a son of a bitch."

She hung up the phone.

"Lisbon, there's something I need to tell you," Jane said as she handed the phone back to him.

She glanced at him warily. "What's that?"

"I hate Texas," he said earnestly.

She released a short bark of laughter at his unexpected comment. "Yeah, I can't really see you ever going native and suddenly wearing one of those huge hats."

"I'm serious. We should move back to California."

She looked at him sharply. "_We_ should move back to California?"

"Yes."

"Jane, I just signed a three year contract for this job, which _you_ persuaded me to take," she said, exasperated. "A job which happens to be based here in Texas. Not to mention the fact that you're under contract to work with the FBI for five years or they'll throw you in jail."

"We can still work for the FBI if we live in California," he argued. "We travel so damn much it doesn't really matter where we live anyway. So we'll stay here a year, for appearances' sake, and then we'll request a transfer."

"Just like that."

"Yes. I'll make myself so valuable to them they will let me work from wherever I want. We could go to San Francisco, or go back to Sacramento, if you want. I know you loved living in San Francisco. Or we could get a place in a smaller town, by the ocean."

"What the hell, Jane?" Lisbon spluttered.

"I'm in love with you," he blurted out. "I want us to get married and have six babies and buy a house with a garden in the back. But I want us to do it in California, not Texas."

Lisbon's eyebrows climbed practically to her hairline and evaded the implications of the critical statement. "Jane, I'm forty years old. I hate to break it to you, but six babies are not in the cards for me."

"Fine, we can adopt ten year old twins then. I don't care. I just want to be with you."

"You want to be with me?" she repeated.

"Yes. I want to cook you dinner and buy you extravagant gifts and pester you for morning sex when you're trying to sleep in," he clarified.

"And you just suddenly decided this right now?" Lisbon said skeptically.

"Of course not. I've been thinking about it for ages."

"What about Fischer?" Lisbon said waspishly. "You've been flirting with her like crazy ever since I moved down here. You sure you're not going to break her heart?"

"I don't care about Fischer, you foolish woman. I was trying to make you jealous."

"_Why_?"

"Because I didn't know how to talk to you about what I wanted from you. About who I wanted to be to you."

She sighed. "And you think now is a good time to have this conversation? In a hurricane, after I've just been shot?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "But you scared me, Lisbon. Please don't do that again."

"You're making it sound like I got shot on purpose!"

He closed his eyes. "Just—don't get shot again, okay? My heart can't take it. Can you please stop being all noble and brave and just hide behind some conveniently large FBI drone next time someone starts waving a gun around? Like Meyers. He would do nicely."

Lisbon blinked. "What the hell did Meyers ever do to you, that you're so willing to throw him into the line of fire?"

"He hit on you," Jane said, as though the reason were obvious.

Lisbon stared at him. "You're jealous of _Meyers?_"

"He has a crush on you," Jane said with a scowl. "And he's tall, with an exemplary service record. And you didn't blow him off when he flirted with you."

"All I did was make fun of his terrible taste in football!" Lisbon protested.

Jane's scowl deepened. "And he likes football."

"How can you possibly be that insecure about my feelings for you?" Lisbon huffed. "You're the great reader of people's emotions—how could you not know how I feel about you?"

"How do you feel about me?" Jane said pathetically.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Jane, I gave up everything for you. Twice. I waited for you. Twice. What more do you want me to do, tattoo 'I love Patrick Jane' on my forehead?"

"Well—maybe not on your forehead," he allowed. "I can think of several other portions of your anatomy where I wouldn't mind seeing that message, however."

"You're an idiot."

Jane was willing to concede the point. "Yes," he agreed. He paused. "You will marry me though, right?" he double-checked.

Lisbon didn't answer right away; she frowned down at the blood soaking the strip of sweatshirt tied around her leg.

"Lisbon?" he prompted her, taking her hand.

"Can we get a dog?" Lisbon said finally.

He nearly collapsed from relief. "Lisbon, we can get a pet giraffe if you want one," he promised fervently.

"No," Lisbon said firmly. "I want a dog."

He exhaled a breath. "Okay."

"Jane?" she ventured.

"Yes?"

"I don't like Texas either," she confessed. "And I am _really_ not a fan of hurricanes."

He tightened his arm around her. "One year, Lisbon. We'll be back home in California before you know it."

"All right."

"How's your leg?" he asked solicitously.

She bit her lip. "It hurts."

"Are you sure you're not losing too much blood?"

"I'll be all right," she told him. "I've seen a fair number of gunshot wounds in my day, Jane. Obviously it feels pretty awful at the moment, but this one isn't that bad, relatively speaking. Therapy is going to be a bitch, but I'll survive."

"Okay, then I'm going to kiss you now," he announced.

"I hope this isn't your idea of a romantic setting," she said, one eyebrow raised. "After all your talk about how great you are at the art of seduction, I have to admit I was expecting something a little grander."

"Just think of it as distraction from the pain," he told her as he lowered his lips to hers.

"Okay," she sighed, and kissed him.

Things got rather heated rather quickly; rather more heated than Jane had really intended, given the circumstances. He noticed Lisbon's pulse was rather elevated and forced himself to pull away.

"Was that a good enough distraction for you?" Jane panted.

"Yes," she murmured into his lips. "You're an excellent distraction."

"Perhaps we should stop," Jane said regretfully, slowly easing away from her. "Your heart is beating faster than normal. We probably shouldn't do anything that will increase the flow of blood to your leg."

She pulled him back towards her. "I'll take my chances," she informed him, just before claiming his mouth with her own again.

Jane continued to distract her from the pain while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. They would make it. All things considered, they'd weathered worse than this, and they'd always come out of it on the other side. So they rode out the storm together, just as they always had, and always would.

Xxx

Abbott told Jane later that the FBI was able to close down a ring of high level hackers the Bureau had been after for a long time by connecting them to the thief Jane and Lisbon had stopped and charging them with conspiracy. Lisbon got a medal of valor for her role in the whole affair. She and Jane got married the weekend after she finished her physical therapy and was cleared for active duty again.

They moved to California six months after the wedding. The house was a bit smaller than Jane would have liked, but Lisbon loved it, so it was okay.

She proved to be more amenable to morning sex than he'd predicted, given how grumpy she could be in the mornings sometimes. But as he was pleased to discover, it turned out he had the power to influence how cheerful she was when she woke up in the morning. Though he did try to let her sleep in on the weekends before he woke her.

He made her coffee every day and chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday.

Their dog was named Jasper, and the garden smelled of jasmine and gardenias.


End file.
